


La petite mort

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Poppy's Adventures in Night Ficcing [37]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, First Time, M/M, POV Second Person, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10449474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: You died a little last night, bit your lip and ground your teeth and cursed and caressed like you wouldn’t have to answer for it in the morning, like you wouldn’t have to be civilized ever again; like you could be honest.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GallifreyanPhD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanPhD/gifts).



> Thank you to gallifreyanphd for the prompt "Erwin admiring Levi's sleeping form after waking up next to him"

You died a little last night, bit your lip and ground your teeth and cursed and caressed like you wouldn’t have to answer for it in the morning, like you wouldn’t have to be civilized ever again; like you could be honest.

But every night seems like your last when you’re in the Survey Corps, much less its Commander, and this is why you don’t indulge in dangerous things.

Somehow, though, civility ceases to matter with the man lying next to you in the morning light, how he called _fuck fuck_ , how his fingers curled like claws against your shoulder blades. And even though you’re aware you are the monster here—you, Erwin Smith, who sends soldiers to their certain deaths—the curl of Levi’s fingers are just as lethal as the rest of his body. 

In fact, everything about both of you reeks of death; but together, you don’t actually notice as much.

You chide yourself for being sentimental—think he wouldn’t like it, think about how you had replied to his cries and terrifying fingers with a _“yes, yes”_ —and so you let your eyes rove over his collarbones and neck and lips slowly, indulgently.

This isn’t the same attention you pay maps, the same scrutiny with which you approach expedition formations—this is idleness, pleasure, secrets.

You think that maybe you know more about Levi than any other living person, but you know that both of you are too similar to really divulge the deepest secrets you carry in words.

_Erwin, Erwin…_

That’s what he’d said, legs around your hips, moving the same way he does in his ODM gear; but somehow, it was something that didn’t belong to the Titans, to the truth, and possibly even to you.

 _Levi,_ you’d murmured into his neck, thrusting into him, _Levi, god…_

It’d started as a party, of all things. You’re relatively sure you haven’t been to a proper party since you were a cadet, and even last night, it wasn’t really a party. It was Levi, being made Captain, and a few over-zealous cadets who idolized him.

More to the point: it was an excuse to get drunk after the last expedition, which resulted in a quarter of the Survey Corps falling, dead.

Levi hadn’t gotten drunk, and you hadn’t gotten drunk; but over the years, since that first expedition, Levi’s eyes have become harder and harder to feel sober about. You feel them, but when you actually look, he never meets your gaze. It’s more the presence there, a shadow at your side and above your head and swirling in your heart; Levi is a wraith with a soft spot for you.

Regardless of the complexity of the relationship, though, you’re relatively sure you ended up in bed with your newly minted Captain because he’d kissed you, looked as surprised as you had shocked, and then muttered with that dry voice, “Might as well.”

One of the first things you learned about Levi after the scar on your neck healed is that he’s sarcastic, dry, often funny, and terribly honest. 

_Might as well,_ you’d echoed, and stupidly, like idiots, you’d both smiled.

And so, that’s how you’d fallen into bed, murmuring things only suitable for the dark, names and breathless moans and the type of honesty that only appears in prayers.

But fucking Levi, and Levi fucking you, is the closest you’ve ever come to asking for something you can’t have. 

And it turns you greedy. It turns you sour, regretful and hollowed from the inside out, after you finish. Those prayers eat at you in the dark when you’re both sleeping, and with every breath he takes, you become uglier.

You want to know everything about him. You want to know his mother’s name, how he met Isabel and Farlan, the first time he killed someone, the first time he had sex, how it feels to be so impossibly strong, how to mend broken things.

You _want_ so badly, and it’s as wrong as the way you said _Need you, need you_ under your breath when you came, words malformed in your mouth that you tried to push away, tried to focus on the _why not_ and the _might as well_ and how temporary all of this is.

But you are ugly, and you want, and you are Erwin Smith, a naked man in a bed with come dried across his stomach you were just too fucking tired to wipe off that belongs to Levi Ackerman, the strongest person within the Walls. 

“Ugh,” he groans suddenly, startling you out of your thoughts as he rolls over and blinks blearily, “why the hell are you awake?” His eyes are gray, a little sleepy, strangely vulnerable.

You smile a little because he’s not looking at you, and then suddenly he is, but you can’t stop smiling. You’re not sure whether it’s hysteria, embarrassment, or contentment. Maybe it’s a little bit of everything.

“You’re supposed to sleep late after a party,” Levi grunts, yawning. “That’s what Farlan used to say.”

As soon as he says the name, his mouth snaps shut, his pupils dilate, and he immediately pulls back into his own space; it’s only then that you realize your legs have been tangled, that he’s been so close up until now.

“I see,” you reply simply, letting him retreat. And you’re relieved that he’s pulled away on his own, that you don’t have to think about how Levi looks in the morning, how it addles your brain and makes you _wish_ and _pray_ and feel ugly, desperate things in your own head.

“Farlan’s dead,” Levi says, his voice even now. You already know, without reading his expression closely, that he’s looking at the scar on your neck. “I think I was dreaming.”

“What were you dreaming?” It aches not to reach out and touch him now, when his eyes are alive and he’s so close.

But you’ll get up and make tea. Levi will get dressed, and you won’t talk about your escapades in bed. Maybe it will even happen again—sex in the ranks isn’t particularly shocking, even if it’s never talked about openly, a distraction among willing parties from death, not a marriage proposal.

If you were one to propose marriage, after all, you’d be Nile Dock, and you’d propose to a woman like Marie, and you’d look inward to roses and unicorns; not to an open frontier that holds only carnage and blood.

You’re not expecting Levi to kiss you, though, to turn everything on its head all over again; yet it’s what he does every minute of every hour, turns you upside down and makes you forget that you chose to chase monsters, rather than men, in the way that you now chase him.

“I was dreaming about almost killing you.” Levi’s voice is resolute with the delayed answer, and then he just stares at you, his gaze direct and heavy.

“Was I that bad?” You can be funny too; Levi’s mouth quirks.

It hurts and it heartens and you just want to lie here forever; these are prayers answered with sin.

“Stop fucking talking.” He kisses you again, his lips tender this time on your neck, then your jaw, near the scar, and you drown in kisses you don’t deserve.

You learn now: Levi is affectionate. It’s unexpected; but then again, so was his empathy. 

He kisses you for what seems like hours, wordless, save for your fingers stroking through his hair; eventually, your eyes close, and you float in a world that’s devoid of sin or righteousness. Just Levi’s lips on your skin, and you think this might be like sleeping in.

And then he gets lower, and everything is blissful as you spread your legs and your new Captain gives you the best blowjob you’ve ever had, his mouth clever and sure; you feel him tense every time you moan, and his hand lands on your hip and squeezes every time you jerk.

You’re so in love with him, it’s laughable; you’ve been in love with him the way you’re in love with the trees and the sky and the sun, but you don’t hate him the same way you hate the wide open grass for eating your comrades while still being beautiful.

Levi is beautiful like a snake, or a river with an undertow; deadly and unwitting in his current, never hesitating.

You come with an arch of your back and a cry; and you don’t realize Levi’s been stroking himself in tandem with your pleasure, how he orgasms at almost the same time.

As if you lead him, as if you could direct a river as deep as Levi Ackerman.

But when he finishes, climbs up next to you and tries not to smile, you pull him close.

“Why this?” you ask quietly, unable to keep it in any longer.

“Why not?”

“Why me?”

“Because you,” Levi retorts, his tone exasperated. “Erwin, go back to sleep.”

When he says your name, you realize: you’ve given him everything—will give him everything—whatever is left of you.

He is a thing of selfish prayers, and for a morning, you allow yourself to ask for things you cannot have; and he turns, and he takes your arm about his waist, and he pretends not to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/). Say hi if you wish! :D


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